


Till The War’s Won

by babygrxxt



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: M/M, harry is all cocky and confident and ugh, innuendos at the end, lilo bickering, louis is professional (for a while), zayn is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygrxxt/pseuds/babygrxxt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is a federal agent hired to look into the high profile murder of a multi millionaire oil baron, killed in his own home after a barrage of shady business dealings. Along with chasing down terrorists, journalists and sketchy photographers, he is put in charge of the protection of Sir Davidson’s young teenage son, Harry, the next in line for the assassin’s bullet. It is all standard procedure up until the point he realises Harry’s got a personality of his own, and he’s sick of being scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till The War’s Won

Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t somewhat enjoy going on missions.

Of course, during staff meetings and lunchtimes in Liam’s overly cramped office cubicle he kept up a cool facade, untouchable in his detachment from the job and the people he’d seen killed before his very eyes. Zayn had asked him once, with a watery look in his deep brown eyes, whether he ever worried about losing his humanity.

Louis was of the assumption that the moment he stopped caring, the moment his stomach ceased to flip at the sight of blood or bullets or a ticking bomb; that would be when he’d know he was gone. He hadn’t reached that so far, and so he considered himself luckier than the majority of the agents he had came into contact with over the years.

He was only twenty-six years old, relatively young by many peoples’ considerations, but for the Secret Service he was of the optimum age to go on multiple missions throughout the course of twelve months. He’d been in the job for about three years at that point, almost immediately after his training with Her Majesty’s finest being deemed the best out of the class of hopefuls by the higher ups. Tom, as he would come to be known (Louis had a certain sentiment to it meaning he rejected to tell many the name), became a field agent relatively early on in his career. The boss of his particular sector had confided in him once with a heavy set brow and a saddened mouth that this was for the best; agents tended not to have the longest life-spans.

It wasn’t for the money that Louis was risking his life, nor was it for the satisfaction that came from saving lives each day of the week. He knew that he’d taken just as many souls out of this earth on a given mission than he had rescued. No, it wasn’t for either of these things that he suffered through multiple broken bones and several scars where the bullets had lodged themselves in his bones; the main draw of the job for him was the pure, unadulterated _excitement_ that came from a grown man playing war games. Even briefly, this provided the opportunity for him to leave the mundane aspects of what he called his personal life, allowing him to spend the nights reliving the thrill of the metal against his palm rather than dwelling on the lonely quietness of his London apartment.

At that given moment he was laughing in the backseat of a beaten up Jeep as the car battered itself around the broken up streets of back alleys and pavement curbs. Liam was in the driver’s seat, sweating and swearing profusely, and Zayn was gripping onto the handle above the door and muttering what sounded like prayers under his breath. His gun was sitting, abandoned, in his lap and Liam’s was knocking around on the floor of the car beside his feet, only causing him to let out more profanities at the disturbance. In fact, Louis was the only one who had kept a hand on his weapon, which was ironic considering the main purpose of this chase was to catch a suspected murderer.

 “You know, if you didn’t have that very impressive looking driving distinction sitting on your desk I’d be inclined to say you didn’t have a fucking clue what you were doing,” Louis announced, leaning his chin on the back of Liam’s seat. Zayn let out a nervous laugh but Liam just rolled his eyes in the wing mirror.

“If you think you could do better, Tom,” he snapped, sharply missing a terrified looking pedestrian. Louis pressed his badge up to the window, not that she could’ve seen it with the speed they were doing. “I’d be happy to let you take over.”

“Just leave him alone,” Zayn mumbled from the passenger seat, his delicate voice slightly broken with panic. Louis never understood why he had become an agent; he seemed to spend the majority of his time begging with Louis and Liam not to shoot someone. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Louis chuckled, patting Zayn on the shoulder. “You stick up for him mate,” he said, and then, with a sarcastic tinge to his voice, “Watch out there buddy. We don’t wanna go into the Thames.”

Liam let out a loud, “Fuck!” and swerved. The back of the Jeep scraped against the stone of a bridge barrier. Louis felt himself lunge to the side, and suddenly regretted his choice to skip out on the seatbelt. His body lurched, thumping painfully against the door of the car. His head snapped forwards, landing on the floor.

All he could hear was the rumble of the tyres against the gravel and then the gunshots through the front windscreen. Everything was happening at once, and Louis was powerless to help. Liam’s voice echoed throughout the vehicle, screaming for them both to get down. Louis’ blue eyes were hazy and squinted and he could barely make out through the dust that had settled the familiar contours of his gun. His fingers, covered in a seeping red liquid from his chest, grasped onto the metal. He pulled himself forward, wincing at the pain that seemed to call from every cell of his body. Every inch of his skin was aching.

He could see through the break in the two front seats three men in balaclavas, moving determinately towards the Jeep. If he timed it correctly, he could just get the third one who was remaining, unmoving, right in his line of vision.

The other two circled the vehicle, pulling open the doors. “Now,” Louis yelled.

As if they were three independent limbs of a combined body they all shot in sync, watching as all of their targets dropped to the ground within seconds of each other.

“Are you two okay?” Liam asked, although he was only really looking at Zayn. Zayn nodded whilst Louis propped himself up against the inside of the door once more.

“I think I’ve broken a rib,” Louis mumbled. The adrenalin was dissipating now, making it all the more apparent to him just how painful that slam had been. Liam turned around to him, his eyes widening as they took in the blood on his white shirt.

“When did that happen?” he asked, obviously shocked. Louis laughed despite the fact that it hurt to do so.

“When you crashed into the bridge, jackass.”

Zayn let out a loud exhale. “Jones is going to _kill_ you Li. He’s the best we’ve got, and we’re meant to be on a plane tomorrow.”

Liam had already made his way around to the back door, having pressed the distress button for an ambulance. “Should I move him?” he questioned. Louis raised an eyebrow.

“I am right here, you know,” he reminded. Liam was looking increasingly terrified with each passing moment. “And, to answer your question, no. Who the fuck moves a man with a broken rib?”

“He’s got a point,” Zayn piped up.

“Yeah, I know I do. I am the best, after all.”

Both of the boys just smiled fondly at him. “That you are.”

*

According to the Service’s on site medical team it wasn’t a broken rib that was the source of Louis’ pain. Instead, it was merely a fracture and some mild muscle bruising. “You’ll need to take some pain medication for a while,” the kindly-faced nurse had instructed as she passed over the tablets into Louis’ slightly sweaty hands. “But you should be able to continue with less physical missions -- along with your partners, of course. Just take it easy.”

Despite Nurse Karen’s assurances that Louis could continue on with his work Jones, the sector boss, had decided that he was far too much of a liability to put on a flight to New York. “Do you seriously expect me,” Jones asked, leaning his elbows on the desk as Louis argued that he was perfectly fine, “To believe you when you say you’re capable? You’re a pathological liar, Tomlinson.”

“Sir,” Louis argued, “that’s bound to make me all the _better_ to go to NYC. I could just bluff my way out of a bad situation. I’ve done it before!”

Jones rolled his eyes, groaning from the back of his throat. “Yes, I am aware that you have,” he muttered. “However, I believe that your services would be put to better use in California at the moment.”

Louis scrunched his eyebrows together, slightly confused. “California, sir?” he said, his formalities having returned to him with the recent development. Jones nodded hesitantly in a way that someone would to a Rottweiler about to pounce.

“Los Angeles, to be exact,” the boss expanded. He opened up a drawer of his desk and slid over a manila file towards Louis. He opened it to find pictures of a somewhat elderly man lying in a puddle of his own blood. Louis couldn’t stop himself from wincing slightly at the bullet hole in his head.

“Sir Andrew Davidson,” Jones explained, grimacing himself at the images. Louis noticed how the red stained the expensive looking fur rug. “I’m sure you’re familiar with him.”

“He’s an oil baron, right?” Louis asked. Jones nodded solemnly.

“A highly powerful oil _tycoon_ ,” he corrected. “He owns a multi-million dollar refinery on the coast of L.A. Only a day ago he was killed in his own home by a masked man, who was promptly shot by an officer on the scene.” Jones sighed. “Pity, really. We can’t even interview him now.”

Louis pursed his lips. “Do you think it was an assassination?”

“That’s certainly what it looks like,” Jones said. “We looked into the man’s history. Tony Rock. He’s completely clean apart from a couple of parking tickets, and,” Jones flicked over to another page of court transcripts. “He was the witness to several high profile murders in the Los Angeles area.”

“Figures,” Louis murmured. “He was a witness alright. He was the one who shot them.”

“We can’t prove anything,” Jones reprimanded, but Louis saw something like pride reflected in his irises. “But we know that he’s not bright enough to have planned this whole thing out himself. He got into the mansion at the exact time that Sir Davidson’s bodyguards changed shift, the exact time in which he knew nobody else would be home.”

“And Davidson’s wife?” Louis asked, flicking through the pages of background data.

“She was at a gala in a hotel three streets away. There are people who can vouch for her. She was my first suspect as well,” Jones said. He was somewhat disappointed sounding. “But the killer missed one crucial point. There was someone else there at the time, only a floor above.”

Louis scrunched his nose. “Who?”

Jones looked at Louis, but it seemed as if it was painful for him to do so. His lip was trembling almost microscopically, an uncharacteristic weakness that shone like a beacon in front of the young man, reminding him that every person he came into contact with through this job was a human just like himself.

“His son,” Jones said finally. “Harry Davidson.”

There was a brief pause before Jones added, “I don’t blame the assassin for not knowing. Davidson Junior has remained practically invisible for all nineteen years of his life.”

“Do you think that was purposeful?” Louis asked. “Was he trying to protect him from someone?”

“That,” the wrinkled boss stated. “That’s the million dollar question.”

“Literally,” Louis responded quietly, looking back at the dead man amongst the clinical white of his sterile living room. “So is that what I have to do? Protect this phantom kid?”

“Basically,” Jones said. “Well, that and find out who murdered his dad. No big deal for you Tomlinson though, right?”

“Right,” he muttered, looking into the darkness of his boss’ eyes. “I’ll be back in time for the footie match next week.”

Jones laughed as Louis got out of his chair and moved towards the door. “I can always count on you Tom. Now get to work.”

*

Ten hours and five thousand miles later the plane touched down on Californian soil. It was warmer than it had been in London, and the air was slightly cleaner despite being weighed down with the thickness of the heat. Despite the change in climate Louis was still forced to battle it out in a designer suit tailored specifically for a secret agent; there was more than one pocket perfectly adapted to the shape of a gun. Liam was looking significantly red faced also as he stepped off the private jet, huffing and puffing about the hotness of the sun. Zayn was the only one still looking relatively cool with his black jacket draped over his arm. Louis found himself looking at him for a couple of seconds too long (there were times in which Zayn looked more and more like an Armani model, and this was one of them), resulting in Zayn punching him in the arm playfully.

“You’re captivated by my beauty,” he had laughed, and Louis agreed, but he hadn’t been joking.

The American dream as it had been portrayed on British television screens was more than just a stereotype. Everywhere Louis looked there were houses clad in panelling and colourful paints, bearing a significant change to the mundane brick of London flat blocks. The light bounced off of everything, the vibrancy hurting Louis’ irises. They took a taxi to a place which provided him some relief; the large funnels of a foreboding oil refinery blocking out the Californian sunshine. Louis took off his sunglasses when in the large shadow and peered upwards.

“Wow,” Liam muttered from his side. “That’s a big-ass oil rig.”

Whilst Louis could’ve thought of many adjectives that differed from the colloquialisms of ‘big-ass’ he found himself agreeing. “Where’s the mansion?” he asked another agent, Marcus, who was hovering nearby. Louis, Zayn and Liam were the higher ups of this particular mission, aided only by four others who were donned ‘the muscle’ and Marcus, the techie.

Marcus flipped open the notebook he had been carrying around, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “About a couple blocks from here, I think, on the beach.”

“Figures,” Louis mumbled as they followed the muscle forwards back into the blazing heat. “Murders always happen in pretty beach houses in movies. About time it happened in real life too.”

“Like Cluedo, innit?” Zayn said, unbuttoning the top of his shirt slightly, revealing only the top of his chest tattoos. Unlike Louis he was proud of showing off his ink, being of the firm opinion that it was part of what made him Zayn. “I wasn’t born with them, I chose to put it there,” he had said once over his third pint of beer. “That’s bound to say something ‘bout me, eh?”

A grim smile appeared on Liam’s face at the sight of the mansion. It was perched delicately on the side of a mountain, supported only by a few visible diagonal beams, and Louis felt sick even looking at it. He could see the helicopters swarming, serving only as a further reminder that the previously hidden son of Sir Davidson was hot news right now. As they walked towards it the sand stuck on the bottom of Louis’ shoes and the thinly lapping waves left streaks on the leather. A couple of reporters were standing on the adjacent mountain, screaming down questions at the agents, but it took only a “no comment” from one of the larger security men to silence their queries.

It turned out there was another entrance to the mansion embedded in the steep incline meaning that they didn’t need to climb to get to the crime scene. There must’ve been a hundred glass stairs wrapped in a spiral that led directly into the spacious living room. The body had been moved over to the dining room table, an opaque sheet hiding the corpse from view. There was an unavoidable smell of preservative hanging in the air, sticking in the back of Louis’ throat. He focused his attention not on the sickness building up in his chest but the scientists that were bustling around closing curtains from prying paparazzi and taking blood samples from the rug.

“Any new information?” Liam asked a particularly attractive, relatively young medical intern named Sophia. Her colleagues began smirking, as did Zayn and Louis. Liam and Sophia were famous in the Secret Service/FBI for being that kind of couple that never dared to ask each other out for fear of rejection, even when it was evident to everyone around them that they were obviously in love.

Sophia smirked at him and leaned against the contours of his side slightly, just casually enough that it could be passed off as an accident (which it would inevitably be by Liam later on as he dissected her every move over a shot of vodka). “Well, we know one thing,” she said. Louis could tell by her tone that she was about to mess a little with his slightly uptight partner, but Liam was so oblivious, so transfixed on the beauty of her eyes that he hadn’t noticed. “It’s definitely Sir Davidson who was murdered.”

Louis and Zayn both chuckled at that but Liam just smiled at her, the tips of his ears slightly red as they always were in her vicinity. “Really?” he said. “You’re so smart.”

“It was in our case file, remember?” Louis offered as Sophia pushed her hair back behind her ear, smiling shyly as she went. He rolled his eyes.

“You two need to get together sometime, you know that?” Louis muttered to Liam as they walked away. Zayn nodded vehemently beside him.

“It’s obvious you two are eye humping each other every time you talk,” the dark eyed boy offered.

“She’s really pretty though,” Liam said, pouting slightly. They were mere metres away from the bedroom in which Davidson’s son had, in Sophia’s words, ‘barricaded’ himself in. Louis was psyching himself up for breaking the door down if the boy resisted.

“Yeah, and so are you,” Louis said, only furthering Liam’s blush. “You’d make smoking babies. Like Victoria and Becks.”

“You make everything about Beckham, Tom,” Liam protested as Zayn scuttled along two steps behind them. They stopped in front of the door, scrutinising it closely. Sophia passed by the corridor, calling down to them.

“He hasn’t said a word,” she yelled, “but he seems like a nice guy.”

This wasn’t relevant to anything in Louis’ opinion – whether he was kind or the biggest douche-butt on the planet the job would be carried out to the same standard – but perhaps it was just another excuse for Liam to go red and stutter something about Sophia’s hair before she disappeared once again.

Zayn poked his head in between the two boys and rested his chin upon Liam’s shoulder. “We should just knock,” he said.

“Or kick the door in. Take him by surprise,” Louis suggested, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

“Or knock and _then_ kick the door in,” Liam queried. “We’re civilised people, right?”

Zayn let out a groan. “I seriously don’t think wrecking his bedroom door three days after his father has been brutally murdered is the best plan. We need to be subtle, caring. Especially if we’re going to have to protect him for God knows how long.”

“It won’t be long,” Louis mused confidently. “You’ve said it yourself. We’re the best.”

Liam looked over at Zayn and then back to Louis with a worried expression on his face. “I’m not sure, Tom,” he said. “Maybe Malik’s right. This is a very complicated case.”

That was truer than Louis cared to admit. Sir Davidson had collected many enemies over the years through his business dealings, and there wasn’t necessarily a definite conclusion that foul play was involved. One of the most commonly discussed options amongst the Service’s officers was that the baron may have hired the assassin _himself_ to make sure his secrets went to the grave with him. Others, the more compassionate such as Zayn of the agency, had said that was unlikely given his son was in the room upstairs. Louis himself was a man of feeling. He had a good intuition about things, and he was rarely ever wrong. He was convinced that the second he laid eyes on the man’s son he’d know. He’d know if the boy was the type of person you could bear leaving.

Louis groaned, but finally conceded to Zayn’s suggestion. “Fine,” he snapped. “We’ll do it your way then.”

Zayn grinned in self satisfaction and rapped his knuckles against the door, stepping backwards to allow for a response.

It was mere moments before the raspy voice echoed through the wood of the door, making something stir inside of Louis. He suddenly had a very bad feeling about this entire thing. He went to walk away but before he had the chance Liam had pulled him into the room, right into the line of vision of what could only be described as the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen in his life.

His eyes were a bright green, emphasised almost solely by the length of his eyelashes, which settled so seamlessly into the porcelain of his skin. He was skinny, but not excessively so, and he was wearing a pair of black jeans that clung in just the right places. A scarf was placed on top of his head, not enough to block out the obvious way in which he had run his fingers through his hair many times before they had arrived, and his shirt was unbuttoned far enough to see the tip of a tattoo just above his navel. Louis felt his breath catch in his chest as he took in the tanned contours of the boy’s exposed chest, the careful ink that worked its way over the brown. He was fascinating in a way that clothes can make a person; he was so captivating without having said a word that Louis felt his resolve weakening already.

Louis had always known that he wasn’t straight, wasn’t completely ‘vanilla’ as his childhood best friend had put it right after he had kissed him. He didn’t see the point of confining himself to labels, a fundamental portion of his character being dedicated to being free. He liked being able to do whatever the hell he wanted to with whoever the hell he wanted to do it with, and at that moment he found the insatiable need to do everything in the world with this dead millionaire’s son, a dead millionaire’s son that he was meant to protect and who – he reminded himself - was barely legal.

The boy stood up from the edge of the bed upon which he had been sitting, a half smile playing on his lips. A dimple had popped in his cheek, but it looked like it could go deeper; Louis imagined that when the boy laughed properly his entire face would look as if it was splitting in half in the adorable and endearing way that he could only dream of. Laughter looked a long way away in the now dimming sunlight as the boy moved towards them, holding out his hand with gorgeously long and skinny fingers.

“I’m guessing you’re the cavalry,” he said. Liam and Zayn did the polite thing by chuckling, but Louis was still too awestruck and choked up to do anything but flash the boy a small smile.

“We are,” Liam said as Zayn furrowed his eyebrows in Louis’ direction, mouthing ‘what’s wrong with you?’ out of Harry’s sight. Louis didn’t answer. “I’m Agent Liam Payne, this is Agent Zayn Malik and this is Agent...” He paused for a moment, obviously floundering. “Tomlinson.”

All of the men shook hands with the young boy and then returned to a straight line formation. Louis had purposefully avoided looking into Harry’s eyes; he had noted during conversations with Liam and Zayn in particular that the boy had a tendency to be very intense with his eye contact, and that was something that would completely undo Louis right now. It would probably result in him stuttering something completely embarrassing, or undressing on the spot, which wouldn’t be very professional.

He suddenly felt himself regretting making fun of Liam and Sophia so often during their multitude of missions in which the couple had met; along with this came the realisation that he absolutely _had_ to keep this burgeoning feeling that was making his stomach churn from the other agents lest they make his life completely unliveable (unless they already knew, and, guessing by their smirks, they did).

“Where are we going?” Harry asked. Liam looked at Zayn. Zayn then glanced at Louis, who firmly retained his focus on the ground, which was becoming more and more fascinating to him with each passing moment. “Or is that need-to-know?”

“Yeah,” Liam said with a casualness that made Louis squirm. Harry was so radiant within even seconds of knowing him that Louis knew he was the type of person to make people open up - not that he was against that sort of thing. It just wasn’t _protocol;_ it would go against everything he had been taught in training, everything his badge represented to begin getting feelings for this boy with the brown hair that was shining under this light, slightly curly near the ends, lips as red as the blood on that white carpet... “Yeah, and you don’t need to know.”

Harry shrugged. “I get that, I guess. Off to LAX then?”

“We’ve got a private jet waiting for you at a secret location,” Zayn informed him, taking a blindfold out of his pocket. “You have to understand. It’s for your safety.”

Harry took the scrap of material and wrapped it expertly around his head, not needing Liam’s assistance. “You know,” he said, laughing slightly as Liam led him out of the room. “The last time this happened I was in Amsterdam, and it ended a lot better than this will.”

“Sorry bro,” Liam said as Louis cringed in the background, thanking God for the small mercy of hiding Harry’s eyes. “No strippers this time.”

“No,” the boy muttered as they manoeuvred around the living room, Liam winking at Sophia as they passed. Several of the forensic investigators peered over at the Davidson boy, craning their necks to get a better look. Louis didn’t blame them. “No, there were no strippers. You see, I was one.”

Whilst Liam and Zayn laughed Louis could only focus on the way his brain felt like it was being bombarded with several shots of alcohol all at once, Harry being more potent than the richest bottle of champagne.

“You’re going to be fun to shoot people for,” Liam joked whilst Zayn made a disapproving snort. Harry waved his hand and placed it to his stomach in a sort of theatrical bow.

“That is the only thing I want out of life,” Harry quipped. “Or, if it comes down to it, death.”

The mood became quite sombre after that.

*

They were to stay in a hotel in the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona before returning to what Louis considered the familiar surroundings of London. They would continue to move around Europe for the next couple of months before placing Harry in the witness protection programme, considering they didn’t capture the culprit in that time. Louis was more determined than ever to finish this mission as rapidly as he possibly could – perhaps even make this the single shortest of his career.

It was a relatively nice place to stay even with its meagre two stars. It was clean and somewhat comfortable, and the staff were nice but just uncaring enough not to write down records of who had stayed in their establishment. This was the perfect place to ferry a rich boy whilst Zayn returned to L.A. to secure Mrs Davidson, a woman who wouldn’t have as much a price on her head as her son would.

Harry had been smirking for a while. It had begun in the elevator and continued as they walked past multiple similar rooms searching for 11C, 11D and 11E. It was infuriating simply because everybody else seemed to understand _apart_ from Louis, and so when they were only halfway through their journey he turned to the boy and asked, in a rather snippy tone, “What the hell are you so smiley about?”

“Nuthin,” he said slowly. Louis looked at him for a moment and then, after a nudge in the back from Liam, decided to continue walking. He was slightly in front of Harry when the boy called out, “It’s just that you’re very sexy, Agent Tomlinson, in that tight suit.”

The tips of his ears went a scarlet red as the muscle began tittering and giggling like immature teenage girls. He began speaking several times in a clipped voice before collecting himself.

“You’re very inappropriate, Mr Davidson,” he settled on. Harry just grinned.

Louis stepped into yet another elevator to go up once again, Harry following close behind him. It was cramped, so much so that all four large men wouldn’t be able to fit. Marcus just grinned at him and mouthed an apology as he pressed the button. The doors closed just as Harry mumbled something.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Styles,” Harry repeated. “My name is Harry Styles. Not Davidson.”

This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Louis alone with a boy in an elevator... Last time that had happened he’d lost his virginity.

Harry’s voice was even lower than it had been in the mansion, reverberating through Louis’ body, touching every cell body. “That’s going to need some explaining,” Louis replied, finally.

Harry sighed against the wall of the lift, leaning into the metal so casually, melding in as if he was part of the mechanism. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try to keep it simple.”

The doors pinged open, right in front of room 11C. Louis fumbled for the room key and pushed it in, opening up to an acceptably spacious bedroom with two single beds and an ancient television. He had tried to change rooms with Marcus, but for some reason none of the agents would watch over the millionaire. Some claimed that it was Louis’ mission therefore it was his problem, others simply refused point-blank. He had looked to Liam for help then but he proved as much use as a chocolate teapot (he intended to have very strong words with him when they returned to England).

Harry closed the door behind him as Louis dropped a duffel bag on the bed. His face was red, but he played it off well as just the strain from the multitude of stairs and walking. He motioned for Harry to continue, sitting down on the bed. The boy stood just inside the door, his posture slightly crooked.

“Well,” he began, his mouth pursed so it looked like he was smoking an invisible cigarette. “I am the illegitimate love child of a married, fifty year old tycoon and his twenty-three year old prostitute by the name of Sydney Styles.”

Louis raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything more. His finger reached into the pocket of his blazer, clicking on the recorder inside of the material. Harry could say something useful, but without evidence it would be worthless in a court or hearing.

“It was a one night stand in NYC, or at least that’s what he said.” (Louis nodded even though he didn’t have the briefest of understanding of affairs. His parents had been happily married and faithful for longer than he had lived.) “But thirty three months later, much to his surprise, he discovered he had a two year old son by said prostitute. This son was left in the world with nothing but a note taped to his pyjamas outlining his paternity after his mother died of a drug overdose.”

His tone had changed since the beginning; it was more formal now, as if he had been trained to tell the story in this way. Louis knew _why_ the sparkle in his eyes was less obvious now; he just wished that it would return, even if it meant him losing out on evidence.

“Now, he obviously checked to make sure I was his,” Harry continued, “and it turned out that I was. This caused Lillian Davidson, his beautiful and doting wife, to go on a rampage stating how nobody was to know that he’d had a child by some ‘lowlife tramp’. I’m paraphrasing, of course,” Harry said, so casually it was quite unbelievable. “She was much more graphic than that.”

Louis could imagine.

“She adopted me after that so she was legally my mother.” Harry let out a bitter little laugh, a sound that didn’t appear natural coming from the pink of his lips. “She was probably hoping for some of my inheritance. Anyways, I showed up to cotillions and funerals of Dad’s varying business partners and kept on the down-low for the majority of my life. Well...”

There was a pause that Louis didn’t feel comfortable filling.

“Before my father got shot in the head in the middle of his own living room whilst I slept upstairs, of course.”

The boy inhaled sharply before turning around to look at Louis. The sounds of the other agents were leaking through the walls, the muscle being famous the world over for their rowdiness, but Louis barely noticed them. It was hard to believe that Harry looked even more beautiful in the rapidly depleting light, that the slivers that did remain would highlight his face so perfectly. He was the complete opposite of the sharp witted Louis; he was all soft angles and curves, nothing pointed about him.

 “Now,” Harry said, moving finally into the room and sitting down far too close to Louis. “What’s your tragic back-story?”

“I have none,” Louis answered, and he was telling the truth. Harry was probably going by the common perception that those employed in the Secret Service were unloved as a child, bullied as a teen and therefore filled with an irrepressible need to seek justice with a sprinkling of vengeance under the Queen’s name.

Many of the agents Louis had associated with during his time in the Service _had_ fitted almost seamlessly into this mould, but he just wasn’t one of them. His childhood had been filled with happiness; sunny days and ice creams on the beach, parents who loved each other more than the earth loved the rain, laughter echoing in his ears.

It wasn’t that he was envious of Harry’s obviously scandalous lifestyle - after years of living like that it was inevitable that it would become depressing and light-killing - but it bore a certain aura of excitement that Louis found himself inexplicably drawn towards. The adrenalin that pumped through his body on a daily basis was as vital as the blood within his veins, and he was yet to discover a source of such passion than whilst holding a gun to an assassin’s head and considering in which ways they were exactly the same.

“I came from a nuclear family in a beautiful house in a boring small town” and then, almost as an afterthought, “Not that this is information you are entitled to, of course.”

Harry just dimpled at him and lay down on his back, sprawling out over the covers. “This doesn’t feel like home,” he muttered when Louis came out of the bathroom in only pyjama bottoms and embarrassment. “But then again, L.A. didn’t feel like home either.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Louis said as he gently kicked off his pyjama bottoms, trying desperately not to make it obvious that he was doing so. Harry bore no such relevance to discretion and stripped down in plain view of the blue eyed boy, making him nearly pass out. “Back to London before you know it,” Louis mumbled, his voice broken only slightly.

He wasn’t exactly sure _why_ he was comforting this boy he had only just met; it just felt like the right thing to do. He could see the dimples appearing through the slight darkness and he tried to pay attention to them rather than the contours of his naked body underneath the sheets, the way they clung to his every curve and crevice and made Louis want to just...

“I don’t really like Dad much at the moment,” Harry said. He paused at the same time Louis did. “That’s wrong, isn’t it? I mean, he’s dead.”

“No,” Louis said. “It’s not wrong,” and then, remembering his vocation, “has your father ever told you anything that would be of use to... them?”

“Course he did,” Harry laughed. “The model father did a great job of making me a torture subject.”

Everybody has a 2am and a 2pm personality. At that moment it was getting pretty damn close to 2am, and Louis could almost physically feel himself slipping into sentiment.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Louis mumbled, the gun still grasped tightly in his sweaty hands.

“I know,” Harry said, flicking off the light switch beside his bed. “It’s your job.”

That was the last thing they said to each other that night, but all Louis could think was that this wasn’t just another mission. Given a chance, he could seriously find himself falling.

*

The next morning Louis discussed with Liam over a plate of burnt pancakes exactly what Harry had divulged to him the previous night. Liam hadn’t been surprised. He’d actually laughed in between sips of orange juice and said, “Well, it _is_ kind of obvious Harry’s got some prostitute in him.” Louis supposed he understood that; Harry was the raw magnetism in his attractiveness that could only come from having a parent in that profession. However there was another part of him that couldn’t believe Sydney Styles was half of that boy. Harry struck him as the perfect balance between dirty and delicate, and somehow he couldn’t imagine his body having a price on it.

“He probably knew you were recording, too,” Liam said. Louis scrunched his nose confusedly.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, and Liam just sighed.

“I mean you’re hardly as cool as you are all the rest of the time around him,” his partner informed in such a way that made it appear this was obvious all along. Louis’ attempts to hide his affections may have failed to work, but he’d be damned if he gave Liam the admission he was angling for.

“It’s because he’s different,” Louis said, punching Liam lightly in the arm when he wiggled his eyebrows. “I mean, his dad just died. I can’t be completely insensitive to him, right?”

Liam pursed his lips as if disappointed but nodded nonetheless. “He is just a kid,” he said.

“Why does that sound like a reminder?” Louis snapped.

The brown eyed man let out a laugh. “Just saying, Tom. If you want to jump him, he’s barely legal.”

“Barely legal’s a good look on him.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth Louis regretted them. Liam’s face split into a self satisfied grin. He poked Louis in the arm repeatedly with his index finger whilst chanting, “You have a crush on Harry. You have a crush on Harry”.

“Shut up, you oaf,” Louis nearly squealed, causing the majority of the nearby tables to turn to him with raised eyebrows. “I’m a federal agent, and so are you. You can’t be acting like a teenage girl.”

“Not me with a crush on a _teenager._ ”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“What are we shutting the fuck up about now, exactly?” Malik questioned, sitting down beside the two boys with a tray of questionable looking food on it. Harry was close on his tail, his hair mussed up from sleep and his lips puffy from where he had bit on them, and Louis felt the waffle he’d just swallowed get stuck in his throat the moment he met the other boy’s eyes (acting cool obviously wasn’t working any better for him that day than the previous, as Liam had to spend the next five minutes beating against his back).

“I think we should look at the itinerary for the day,” Liam said pointedly, whilst Zayn checked that Louis was, indeed, still breathing. Louis – significantly annoyed that he had been embarrassed yet _again_ in front of the wonder-boy – nodded with authority, and took the file out of the briefcase sitting beside his chair.

The agents began to discussing who should protect Harry, who should take over covert operations and who would return to L.A. for a day and begin asking questions. Even though Louis was the best at covert (interrogations only worked for him on days in which he felt particularly bitchy, and today wasn’t a good day for that. In fact, he felt quite giddy) Zayn took that position, and Liam offered to return to L.A. with two of the muscle.

“We’ll meet again in London in a day or so,” Liam comforted Louis when he tried to kick the other boy under the table, but he was smirking, so Louis didn’t think he was apologetic for the whole thing in the slightest. “There’s one more location you need to take him to first before London, just to get them off our trail.”

“Let me guess,” Louis said with an almost audible groan to his tone. “Paris or something, right?”

Liam laughed at that, and Zayn managed a smile.

“You were close, Tom,” Liam admitted. “Nice, France actually. Better polish up on those languages, mate. You did enough of them.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered from behind the other boys. Louis was pleasantly surprised that for a brief moment, he had managed to forget the oil tycoon’s son existed at all (this was so much of a lie Louis felt dirty even thinking it to himself). “That’s interesting. How many, exactly?”

Louis pursed his lips. “I’m not really obligated...”

“Oh come on Tom!” Zayn groaned. “Just humour him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Humour is the only thing I have left, really.”

‘Why do you have to keep saying things like that?’ hung on the tip of Louis’ tongue, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole. Besides, Malik was giving him a look that significantly read for him to shut the fuck up, so he decided just to answer the question so they could get moving at some time that day.

“French, Spanish, German and a bit of Russian,” Louis responded. “And English, of course.”

“Ah, Russia,” Harry said fondly, picking up his coat as the other agents began to file out of the dining room, paying courteous goodbyes to their hosts (these ‘goodbyes’ included generous payments of secrecy, just to be on the safe side). “I’ve had a few good times in Russia.”

Louis swallowed thickly. “I imagine you have.”

*

They stayed in Nice for a total of 23 hours and 45 minutes before Louis decided that enough was enough, and booked an incognito flight to London for the very next day.

Harry just couldn’t be alone for a _moment,_ honestly. He wasthe complete opposite of Louis, although his independence came from circumstance rather than choice. Every single goddamn time Louis turned around, Harry was basically pressed up against his back, asking what he was doing, where they were going, what he could do to help. And after saying that he could do nothing, that he wasn’t even supposed to be in Louis’ office anyways, this was top secret government business, a grand one hundred and fifty six times Louis was feeling significantly downhearted.

The night before they left for London the two boys were lying in bed, and Louis was hoping to get the first good night’s sleep of the entire mission so far. He knew it had been going too smoothly for too long. He knew something had to happen tomorrow. He knew, from both the angry feeling bubbling in the pit of his stomach and from his relatively long time on the force, that the saying “the calm comes before a storm” was truer than most people could ever imagine. However, he wasn’t going to get that good night’s sleep, because Harry fucking Styles was determined to watch _Titanic_ on the crappy hotel room TV.

“Could you maybe just possibly shut the fuck up?” Louis snapped across the darkness of the room. Harry was in the other single bed, less than a metre away from him, and he was trying desperately to maintain professionalism and not envy the way that the cotton sheets clung to naked skin, the tattoos barely visible through the fabric... “Some of us are trying to sleep here.”

“This movie is a masterpiece,” Harry murmured lowly. He was obviously trying not to laugh, which just pissed Louis off more. “I don’t shut down masterpieces for anyone. Not even you, Agent Hot-Legs.”

Those three words might’ve been enough to make heat rush into his cheeks and make Louis want to run and hide like a pathetic teenage girl with a crush the size of Texas (or bigger, perhaps, than that) but they certainly didn’t change the fact that when Louis Tomlinson was tired, he was _tired._ And he really didn’t want to wake up the next morning with black marks under his eyes and a grumpy expression, especially when he was going to be walking beside a super-model all goddamn day.

“Can I tell you something?” Harry’s voice broke through the darkness once more.

“You won’t turn the movie off but you’ll talk over it?” Louis said, and then, when Harry didn’t respond, he sighed and conceded. “Go right ahead.”

“I used to have this friend,” Harry began. He sounded as if he was smiling, and suddenly, Louis felt all of the irritation that had been built up previously chipping away at the corners with increasing persistence, because let’s be honest here, he was jealous of the air Harry breathed. “His name was Niall.”

“He sounds nice,” Louis said without thinking (he then spent the next five minutes beating himself internally for daring to speak at all. He sounds nice? What kind of stupid fucking thing to say).

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Harry said with a short laugh. “He was one of those dyed blond, blue eyed idiots that lived down on the North Coast, you know? He used to visit L.A. every now and again with his mother. She treated me like her son, you know... used to buy me ice cream and wipe the stains off my shirt.”

Louis turned over onto his side so he could see Harry more clearly, and was surprised to find that the younger boy had been looking over at him all along, his bright green eyes flashing in the moonlight.

“I have a sneaking suspicion,” Louis said, with a somewhat fond smile. “This is going somewhere.”

“I haven’t seen him for a while, now,” Harry responded abruptly. “Hadn’t, even before I left. I guess I couldn’t phone him when we got to London either, just to catch up?”

Louis pursed his lips. “You know we can’t allow you to do that, Harry.” _If it was up to him, he would’ve given Harry the world and then some._ “It just wouldn’t be safe to trust someone right now, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry inhaled sharply. “I know.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Harry spoke again, and this time it was a question Louis knew was bound to come at some point.

“What’s your first name, Agent Tomlinson?” he asked, still on his side, still smiling devilishly. Louis couldn’t pretend Harry didn’t take his breath away for much longer.

“Harry...” he responded in a low mumble.

“Come _on_ ,” Harry dragged out petulantly, like a child annoyed at its mother. “You’re bound to have a pretty name to go along with that fabulous arse of yours.”

“And _you_ have to be aware that that’s completely inappropriate.”

“Is that why you’re blushing?”

It was dark in the room, and if he was in any way normal at that moment and able to breathe Louis would’ve pointed that out. But instead, the only answer he could seem to force from his oesophagus was, “Louis. My name is Louis.”

Harry smiled at him and then flipped onto his back with a note of triumphant victory (the fucker).

“Louis Tomlinson,” he muttered over and over to himself, his voice fonder with each repeat. “I like it,” he said finally, a dimple appearing in his cheek. Louis was still looking over at him, not able to tear his eyes away.

“I’m so glad you do,” Louis said. “My life would’ve been hell if you didn’t.”

“You’d have to pay for a legal name change,” Harry said. “Not sure if they’d cover it.”

‘They’, of course, being his bosses. Louis had almost forgotten they existed. He had almost forgotten the world existed.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” he said finally. “Or else we’ll be dead on the flight tomorrow.”

“Alright. Sorry, Louis.”

“I never said you could call me Louis.”

“But you call me Harry.”

“That’s because I’m allowed to. To me, you’re Harry Styles; victim. To you, I should be Agent Tomlinson; nothing else.”

“Understood,” Harry muttered solemnly through the night. After that he did, to be fair, remain silent, but the movie continued to play in the background and the screams were far too distracting to inhibit sleep.

He was going to be in for a long night.

*

Louis was gorgeous in a suit – most men were but he was different in a sort of maddeningly attractive way – and Harry couldn’t stop himself from marvelling at the way his trousers cling to every curve and crevice, every inch in which he himself dreamed of exploring. They stuck to Louis’ thighs and were tight on his ass, but not tight enough; he didn’t think anything could be tight enough on Louis except his own skin.

 Maybe a part of him had hoped that Louis would stay up with him that night and watch Titanic alongside him, from the safety of his individual bed.  And maybe a part of him thought each and every day he spent in the older boy’s company that this was a pretty shitty situation, and nobody could fault that, but if he had to spend time with an agent while they searched the world over for his estranged father’s hit man, then he was glad it was Louis.

After their last conversation, Louis fell into silence, although he was still facing the green eyed boy so he could marvel at the thinness of his lips, bloody and bruised from where he bit them, and the length of his eyelashes, the way they cast shadows across porcelain cheeks. He was beautiful, and he was delicate in a way that Harry hadn’t imagined real life federal agents could be; he knew, deep within himself, that Louis had probably killed men with his bare hands. But lying in bed, looking at him with the sounds of crashing water echoing in his ears, Harry wanted nothing more than to hold those hands, to slide their fingers together and perhaps – never let go.

It was only a couple of hours later, when Jack was lying frozen in the water and Rose was stuttering his name from broken down lungs, that he heard it. Sniffing from the opposite bed.

Harry shuffled, now knowing that it was obvious Louis was awake. He hadn’t actually heard anybody cry in a long time, not even when his father died, although he supposed he himself must’ve at some point. The whole day was a blur, to be honest.

He lay in bed, moving over onto his side in such a way as to masquerade as a sleeping figure. Louis must’ve bought it, because he stifled his sobs for a couple of minutes, and when Harry settled they began again.

If it had been _normal_ crying, like what most people did at the Titanic, Harry would’ve been alright with it. It was just the pure _pity_ that went along with the careful mumbles and Louis’ shaking frame that made Harry feel like a fat, one legged woman wearing a stiletto was jumping up and down on his chest. The lights outside the window shone through the blinds and fell to rest on Louis’ hand, which was positioned just within Harry’s grasp, hanging over the edge of his bed.

Harry moved his hand towards Louis’, not caring that the other boy now knew he was awake. Slowly, silently, he stroked his fingers against Louis’ palm.

Without hesitation, their fingers entwined together. Harry felt the one legged woman stab straight through his chest. He was quite taken aback by it; he had loved people before, he was pretty sure, and he had lots of relationships with lots of pretty girls. But none of their hands felt the same as Louis’ warm, calloused skin, cut from where the gun had rebound.

They lay there together, both pairs of eyes staring into each other, nothing but the sound of continued sniffing filling the room.

“You okay?” Louis muttered, and Harry held back a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he replied, because silence harboured secrets and there were enough of those in the world already. He wanted to know why Louis had been crying; _needed_ to know in so many ways he couldn’t quite get a grip on. Louis was Everest, in that way.

“I’m not.”

A stabbing pain shot through him, and for a brief moment Harry wondered if Louis had shot him. “That’s too bad,” he whispered. Louis nodded against his pillow.

“Yeah.”

“What would make you feel better?” Harry said, clear and crisp amongst the ruffling of sheets. “That isn’t sex? Because I owe you some, by the way. For protecting me.”

Louis let out one harsh, sharp laugh, and then a pregnant pause filled the air.

“Can we maybe...” he began. “I dunno.”

He _sounded_ like he knew, but then he also sounded hesitant. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “Do you want me to...”

“Yeah.”

Without thinking too much about it, Harry slipped his hand from Louis’ grasp and used it to untangle himself from the covers. Louis opened up his arms, his eyes sleepy and slightly bloodshot and fucking beautiful, and Harry crawled into them, cursing the cold under his breath.

They were pressed up against each other now, because that was the only way that was comfortable, and Louis’ head was pressed into Harry’s chest. He was shaking even though he hadn’t been the one out in the cold; when Harry pointed this out the other boy laughed breathlessly, as if he could barely be bothered to do so, and murmured into his chest, “You’re naked.”

“No shit, Tomlinson,” Harry replied, causing Louis’ chest to briefly heave in repressed chuckles. “Unfortunately, you are not. Otherwise we could have a good time.”

“Please stop saying things like that,” came his whispered response. It was quiet, begging, so Harry decided to oblige (for tonight, at least).

“I will if you’ll tell me why you’re cr-“

“48 kills,” Louis cut in. He was shaking more violently now. “8 long range. 20 gunshot. 9 hand to hand combat. 5 by petrol bombs, 5 by gas.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I can’t sleep,” Louis said, shaking his head so furiously, as if it would erase that this was even happening. He was opening like a floodgate, and Rose was Rose Dawson and the sad music was playing and Harry couldn’t fucking breathe with the weight of Louis against his chest (although his heart was much, much heavier). “I’ve never been able to sleep. I just haven’t had someone beside me before.”

“You slept a couple nights, there,” Harry replied, scrambling for some kind of response because he really didn’t want Louis to think he was talking to himself now.

“That’s only because –“ Louis inhaled sharply. “Never mind.”

They were so close now Harry could hear the blood pumping through Louis’ veins, could taste his skin upon his lips. He suddenly found a need for the word basorexia (the overwhelming desire to kiss).

“You know, I could lose my job for this,” Louis said, but it lacked conviction. Harry smiled and pressed his mouth against Louis’ forehead. He tasted like heaven.

“Good job no one will find out,” Harry responded, and then Louis’ eyes were staring into his and their heads were moving closer together and Harry could feel himself beginning to get aroused and goddamnit he really should’ve worn boxers to bed and they were kissing.

They were kissing and Louis tasted like metal and gunshots and the expensive wine they’d drunk for dinner which might have had an effect on how this night played out. He tasted like heaven and hell and everything in between, and Harry wanted to fall into him, never wanted this to end, never wanted anything more than _more more more._

It was slow and it was deep and Harry craved friction but he knew Louis couldn’t deal with that in his weakened state and he thought for a moment that maybe that was what was causing this, maybe he was taking advantage but then Louis’ tongue was in his mouth and there was a groan reverberating through both of them and it took a moment for Harry to recognise it as his own.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, kissing, searching every inch of each other’s mouths, but it must’ve been hours, and when he woke in the morning with birds calling outside the window Louis was wrapped around his back like a koala, and Harry had never felt quite so safe before.

*

London’s air was thick and familiar against the back of his throat in the way Harry’s tongue had been the night before.

They arrived in the Big Smoke after a very awkward plane ride in which Louis sat, red cheeked, and made small talk with the Portuguese man beside him, Harry just stared out the window with a smirk on his face because the fucker _knew_ Louis screwed up and goddamnit Louis had never regretted anything more.

It was stupid for many reasons, what he had done last night, not least of them the potential damage to his already rocky career. Louis had got enough agents killed on the field for him to be fired if the boss didn’t like him so much, he really didn’t need the report of him fraternising with the witness to get back, and that was exactly what he had done.

But to say he regretted it – Louis knew this was a lie. He was good at bluffing usually, but when it came to Harry, it was different. When it came to Harry, everything was different.

Louis had imagined kissing Harry before. He admits that now that it had happened. But in his daydreams, Harry’s mouth had tasted like all those who went before him; the girls Harry had kissed in back alleys and the boys that took advantage of a drunk, gorgeous billionaire late at night and the strippers in Amsterdam. But in reality, Harry didn’t taste anything like that; he just tasted minty from the toothpaste and warm and a bit like sugar on the top of shortbread cookies.

Harry looked at him like he was delicate, perfection; as if he hadn’t done all of the terrible things they both knew he had.

It wasn’t as if Louis thought of himself as broken soul, or anything. It was just nice to be looked at so innocently and by somebody so inherently beautiful that the very stars in the sky didn’t shine quite as brightly as he did.

Perhaps it would be best, Louis considered, if he forgot the entire thing even happened. That seemed to be the path Harry was going down, for the younger boy never even mentioned the very event that was reflected in the green in his eyes. Louis was well versed at forgetting things; remembering and forgetting being a vital part of his job. It was only when Liam, who they reunited with the same day they landed, suggested that they use Harry as bait to catch the killer that Louis lost his chill.

“No,” Louis had snapped so sternly that he even caught himself off guard. “It’s too dangerous. Harry isn’t a pawn, Liam,” leaving the brown eyed boy no other option than to disregard that plan entirely.

“If Liam tries to do anything like that again,” Louis hissed later on into the phone to Zayn, who was on a plane from L.A., which proved to have no leads whatsoever. “He better hope his health plan covers death.” When Zayn asked why the fuck he was getting so annoyed about this when he had been perfectly accepting of the very same plan being carried out beforehand, Louis hung up the phone.

At 1800 hours promptly, Liam picked up a still awkward Harry and Louis and a slightly annoyed looking Zayn from their location, saying that it was time for them to catch up on their training and it was when their guard was done that the killer would strike. Louis and Harry were shoved in the back of a bust up Jeep and forced to participate in shooting practice at Liam’s favourite range.

Harry had been watching for a couple of shots (Louis may or may not have had sweaty palms as he tried to impress him. That would just be pathetic) when he asked slowly, and with purpose, “Do you mind if I have a go, Agent Tomlinson?”

Louis looked at him for a moment, feeling slightly hurt but not quite knowing why, and passed a gun over to him. “Don’t worry if you’re not very good,” he chimed as Harry put on glasses and earphones. “It takes a specific knack, you know, and that’s quite a difficult gun to shoot –“

Five loud gunshots ricocheted through the building, hitting against the target with unwavering confidence (although this was to be expected; it was Harry after all). Liam and Zayn were in the next cubicles, and they poked their heads around the back to glance at who was shooting. Upon seeing it wasn’t Louis, both boys discarded their safety equipment and moved over towards their co-worker, who was both impressed and astounded as he watched Harry saunter over to the target and bring it back for them to inspect.

There were five clear holes in the head of the target.

Later that night, Louis sent out the order that all agents must now begin wearing bulletproof vests.

“Just in case,” he said, Harry’s taste upon his bloodied lips.

*

“You think he’s the killer, don’t you,” Zayn muttered over dinner, whilst Harry chatted with the waiter on the other side of the room. Louis refused to answer, instead stuffing several pieces of carrot into his mouth to make answering impolite. Not that anyone cared about chivalry at times like these.

“I don’t believe there’s much ‘thinking’ about it,” Liam whispered harshly, whilst Louis choked on water. “You saw what the boy can do, and that’s when there’s absolutely no mention of previous gun experience in his case files. They say it was that guy the police officer shot, but who’s to say Harry – who would have known when everybody else would be gone and was the only person in the house – didn’t frame him? He has the motives. His father dies and he’s millions richer. He has the alimony; the tragically orphaned son who is just scared of what the murderer will do next. And he has the history. None of us knew about his stripping until we dove in deeper to the rest of the files.”

“Wait wait wait,” Louis said, furrowing his eyebrows together. “What do you mean ‘going deeper into his files’? Did you find something else out?”

Zayn and Liam exchanged significant glances. Louis felt significantly pissed off.

“If you got any new intelligence, I need to know,” Louis snapped. “I am the leader here, remember.”

“The unofficial one,” Liam said. “Remember?”

Zayn leaned across the table. “I found something out about Harry – and, well, I didn’t think it was important, not before we saw the gun and everything –“

“Spit it out, Zayn. I don’t have all day.”

“Don’t be rude to him! Not his fault your lover is imperfect.”

Louis could literally feel his blood pressure raising. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“It was a joke!” Liam exclaimed, a light frown shadowing his features. “What the hell is up with you?”

“Your face!” Louis spat childishly.

“Both of you stop it!” Zayn declared, kicking them under the table. “And listen, before he comes back. Right, Louis – we basically discovered that he’s been involved in... questionable sexual activities in the past.”

Louis’ breath hitched in his chest.

“Sexual activities including homosexuality in states and countries in which it’s illegal, stripping and...” Zayn hesitated. “Prostitution.”

Poison seeped through his veins. He suddenly felt about ten stone heavier in the chair, his blood turning to lead.

“God, what’s happened here?”

Harry’s jovial, light, public voice cut through the fogginess of Louis’ mind, and he almost wanted to punch him right in his radiant face.

“It looks like someone’s died, to be honest,” he said, but he was glancing pointedly towards Louis, and unfortunately, the agent couldn’t even bring himself to flip the boy off. Harry slid into the empty seat beside Louis with his waffles and his orange juice, and finally, whilst Liam and Zayn occupied themselves discussing another mission, he leaned in close to the boy and spoke the first words they had shared in twenty four hours.

“You never told me about the prostitution,” Louis snapped venomously, anger pulsing through him. Harry’s eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing.

“Didn’t think you needed to know,” Harry responded lowly. “You only told me your name last night.”

“All those times you propositioned me,” Louis hissed. “I didn’t realise I’d be out of pocket if I accepted.”

“That’s unfair, and you know it.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

His voice came out louder than he had expected, and the rest of the table was paying attention to their conversation now, but for once, Louis didn’t give any notice to the rest of the table, to any of his surroundings.

All of his hyper-sensitive instincts were trained on every move Harry made. The other boy’s nostrils were flaring in anger, and his pupils were dilated and his hands shaking. He reminded Louis of an earthquake about to hit, or a Coke bottle that had been shook and was just waiting to explode.

Well, Louis wasn’t going to allow him to win the anger game.

He stood up abruptly from his seat, looking to Liam and Zayn with a stern and commanding expression.

“Breakfast is over,” he said, whilst the other two agents joined him. “We move out now.”

“Louis –“ Harry said furiously, scrambling to his feet. “Don’t you dare walk out that door.”

“You’re not in a position to be giving me orders,” Louis responded, with steely determination. “And, Mr Styles, it’s Agent Tomlinson, to you.”

He turned around then and began to leave, but not before gunshots rang through the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis could see Zayn and Liam had crumpled to the floor. His hand went straight to his belt, but where his gun should’ve been it was empty.

When he swivelled around fluently, he found himself face to face with Harry.

He was holding a gun pointed straight at him.

Louis always thought he’d die because of Harry. It just wasn’t like this.

“Harry...” he said, his voice shaking dangerously. Harry was still smirking, but when he moved again it wasn’t to shoot Louis; instead, he threw the gun through the air, and it landed against the older boy’s chest.

“Smart guy isn’t so smart now, is he?” Harry said, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Louis just looks at him with mouth gaped open and surprise lacing every feature.

“Harry, you just killed...”

“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” he said, with a sudden manic laugh. “They’re both wearing fucking _vests,_ probably by your instruction, and if I make even a move towards you they’ll stop playing dead and shoot me in the foot or leg. Never the head; it’s more than your job’s worth to kill me.”

He moves forward slowly, and smirks when Liam and Zayn shuffle on the ground. “I’m not my father,” he warned lowly, his lips so close to Louis’ ear now that they were lightly drifting against the skin, sending shivers through his entire body. “I don’t kill for money, or power, or anything else. But I don’t respond well to people underestimating me. Or threats.”

*

Later that day as they pile into a car to be moved around once more, Louis decided that silence just wasn’t working for him.

“You know,” he said, and Harry turned to look at him, still in the same way as before if hardened slightly. “I only told the other guys to wear vests. I didn’t wear one myself.”

“Why?” Harry asked, shocked. “Did you have a death wish?”

“Perhaps,” Louis answered, smiling slightly in the other boy’s direction. The green of his eyes might not have been the worst thing to see the moment before he died. “But I trust you.”

Right then, there was nothing more they wanted to do than kiss. But of course, that would have to wait for the night, when Harry would tell him all about the forced prostitution he was pushed into by his father’s business partners and Louis would cry alongside him.

Harry Styles was becoming a damn problem.

*

“He’s being brought in as a suspect.”

Liam dropped a manila file onto Louis’ desk, the paper making a slapping sound against the expensive wood. They were still in London, and Louis had been growing ever the more conscious of the fact that nobody had threatened Harry the entirety of the time they had been here, at least not severely (he had already took out three vigilantes and a couple spies that he didn’t dare tell Harry about. He didn’t think the other boy would appreciate the blood on his hands).

Louis looked up at his friends with eyes hooded with sleep. It hurt to stretch his neck like this, partly because he’d spent the past forty eight hours hunched over his fucking desk, and also because the skin was peppered with dark, bloody bruises that, for once, weren’t evidence of his job. When Liam first entered, he had in his right mind to tell him to fuck off and read the “Do Not Disturb (unless you’re Harry)” sign on the door, because Louis smelt of sweat and love and he hadn’t showered in two goddamn days.

“What?” he said, rubbing at his eyes. Liam let out a sigh.

“This is why you need to sleep, Tom,” Liam said. “You can’t concentrate when you live on coffee...”

“Okay mother, I get the picture,” Louis snapped. He could barely put up with Liam awake and sober, never mind equal parts drunk and exhausted. “Just tell me what you said. I wasn’t listening.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Liam mumbled. “You’ve been awfully distracted these days, Tom. I hope it’s nothing to do with whoever gave you those.”

Louis’ hand went immediately up to his neck, pulling the collar of his – Harry’s – jumper up higher to conceal the bruises.

“It’s – it’s not,” he stuttered. Liam raised an eyebrow. “It’s not,” Louis repeated, more strongly this time. “It’s just that I can’t get my head around this case. I can’t think of anybody in particular who would want to kill Davidson – or Harry-”

“You say his name different to everyone else’s, you know,” Liam said, but he wasn’t smiling like he usually did when he teased Louis about Harry. “You and I both know that’s a dangerous game to play-”

“I don’t care,” Louis interjected, running a hand through his greasy hair. “You’re still staying with him tonight, aren’t you?”

“... Yes,” Liam said after a slight pause. He sighed again. He seemed to be sighing a lot these days, enough to fill up a thousand balloons. “Not that it matters. You’ll be asking for me to send him in here in a couple of hours anyways.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, or anything,” Louis said, although both of them knew he was lying. “I just like spending time with him, you know. He’s different to what I expected.”

“He’s just a kid, Tom,” Liam said, suddenly stern. “And, don’t take this personally or anything, but you’re kind of fucked up.”

“No offense taken,” Louis said, flicking through the manila file. It was only beginning to register now what Liam had came in about.

“I just don’t want you hurting him, that’s all,” Liam finished. “You have a tendency to do that to people, Tom -”

“Why did you come in here, Liam?” Louis asked suddenly. He gazed up from the file to his friend’s sombre and unshaved face. “What’s going on?”

Liam swallowed thickly, in the way that he usually did when he delivered the news of a death.

“They’re bringing him into court as a suspect,” he explained. “I managed to talk them out of jailing him until the hearing.”

Louis’ head was already pounding, but now his chest felt like a marching drum at the same time. It was overwhelming. Aching. Burning like a bonfire.

“Have you talked to him?” Louis said. Liam shook his head.

“Thought I’d save it for you to tell him,” Liam said. “You’re the... closest.”

“I suppose,” Louis said nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t Harry’s lips that caused the purple valleys on his neck and Harry’s thumbs that pressed bruises into the lower of his back. He was still hurting all over. It had been too long since the last one, since the last time Liam had teased him about being love-struck and Zayn had smiled wisely and kindly asked about the other boy’s eyes and whether he loved him. “Send him in.”

Liam nodded curtly and left through the door, which had been left slightly ajar anyways. Harry passed by him as he exited, and Louis felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of him; he was long and curved and perfect and his. His his his his his. He was never going to let them get him.

Louis went to stand up but before he could Harry was already half on his lap, pressing their open mouths together. Louis let out a little grunt of dissent but it was muted quickly by the increasing passion. It was almost going somewhere that would take up the entire night and Louis really had to finish the witness reports for another of his projects, so he quickly broke away from Harry, trying not to cry at the little pout on Harry’s lips.

He was beautiful, truly. Louis wondered why the world had to be so cruel to one of its angels.

“They’re calling me in, aren’t they,” Harry asked, but it wasn’t a question. Louis nodded solemnly, sucking his own lip into his mouth and biting down on it harshly. Harry went to stop him, tracing the outline of chapped lips with the softness of his index finger.

Louis kissed him again then, just because he could.

“I’m not surprised, you know,” Harry said, and all Louis could think was ‘it couldn’t be you it wouldn’t be you you’re not evil like that you’re beautiful and you’re Harry and you’re mine’. “I was actually wondering why I wasn’t questioned sooner.”

Louis inhaled sharply.

“I’m going to drive you, you know,” Louis said, tugging Harry closer to him and squeezing his hips with each word. Dimples popped out in his cheeks. “I don’t even give a fuck what Liam says. I’m driving my boy to his criminal hearing if it kills me.”

“It might,” Harry said. The smile had disappeared off his face. “Louis, seriously. Don’t be all like that.”

“All like what?”

“Courageous and shit. I don’t want you to _die_ for me or anything. The whole Jack thing is cool for a while, but then Rose is on her own for a long ass time, and I really don’t want to have your name by a technicality.”

“You want my name?” Louis repeated, smiling a shit-eating grin. Harry’s cheeks went pleasantly pink.

“If you’re willing to give it to me, yes.”

“Well God knows I’ve given you everything else,” Louis laughed. Harry joined in, and when Liam returned the next morning they were asleep on the sofa of the office, paper airplanes littering the floor and a cartoon dick drawn on Harry’s forehead with Sharpie.

*

The cars are black, and their seats smell like fresh plastic. They are lined up along the street, shining against the dirtiness of the pavement. Harry walked across the street with confidence lacing his every movement, his hands buried in the depths of his coat pockets and the front of his brown boots scuffed from the amount of times he had kicked the wall of their bedroom before leaving the building. Louis couldn’t quite mask his anxiousness as well as Harry; he knew the younger boy hadn’t done it, that wasn’t the problem (or did he? When did Harry ever show he was particularly trustworthy?) he was just worrying, that was all. Like an over-anxious mother. Or a boyfriend.

“Me and Zayn will be in front and behind you, in case,” Liam said, side-eyeing Harry with obvious distrust reflected in his features. Of course, Liam was convinced something was going on between the two of them anyways – and there was, but that wasn’t the point – so Harry just smiled at him, the same easy smirk he always wore, and slipped into the Range Rover delicately.

“Be careful, Tom,” Zayn muttered. Liam was bustling around with the muscle, exchanging earpieces and making sure everyone had a gun. “Not everybody is someone you can trust.”

“Believe me,” Louis snapped. He felt bad, because Zayn was the one who had been nothing but kind to him, and being rude to him was a bit like kicking a puppy, but he was already stressed out enough without having to be warned. “I know that better than you. I haven’t trusted anybody for years.”

“But you trust him, don’t you?” Zayn said, motioning over to Harry, who was tapping away on a phone. Louis frowned in his direction – he remembered confiscating all of his iPhones.

“Um –” he hesitated. Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Yeah – yeah – of course I trust him.”

“You’re totally banging him,” Liam’s voice came from behind them, making both Louis and Zayn jump. He rolled his eyes. “Super-spies, I swear to God,” he mocked.

“I’m not ... _banging_ him,” Louis spluttered.

“Fine, making love,” Liam spat. “Whatever you call it, it’s against protocol. And your dick’s messing with your head again.”

“This is the first time this has happened!” Louis protested loudly.

“Ah ha!” Liam exclaimed. “So you admit it _has_ happened.”

“I did no such thing,” Louis said, folding his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t know where you get that from, honestly... Harry’s not even that...”

“That what, exactly?” Liam broke in. “Attractive? He’s fucking gorgeous. Seductive? He was a hooker, for God’s sake. Dangerous? Well isn’t that just the type you like, Tomlinson, the ones who’ll give you a run for your money...”

Louis went to defend himself, but Liam was on a roll now.

“You’re so fucking turned on by people who threaten you, Tom, I’m surprised you haven’t fucked a KGB by now,” he laughed bitterly. “But this – this is a new level of crazy, Tom, and you know that. You must know that. Harry is...”

“Mine,” Louis exploded. Liam stopped, obviously taken aback, whilst Zayn just watched on with a careful look of, ‘Coulda told all you fuckers this would’ve happened’. “He’s mine, and I’d appreciate you not going on about it, okay? I’m perfectly capable of separating my – my dick from my job. Just this time they’re both in the same place.”

Zayn laughed. “Literally,” he said, the first thing he had uttered since the conversation began. Liam just glared at Louis, stupefied, obviously not expecting that the older boy would admit it so freely.

“So just do me a favour, Payne,” he snapped. “And fuck off, okay? Because I know my Harry, and my Harry wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly never mind kill his own father. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go help him get ready for this hearing.”

He stomped over to the Rover and slid into the seat, still fuming. His ears must’ve been red, because Harry turned to him the moment he got in and asked, “So. What was Liam saying?”

“Nothing,” Louis said sharply. “Just being a dick, as usual. Ready to go?”

Harry considered him for a few moments. “Yeah,” he said, pulling on his seat belt. “But there’s something I need to tell you-”

“Answer my question, Harry. I’m not in the mood for circle time right now.”

A frown appeared in between Harry’s eyebrows. “Fine,” he snapped. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“That’s all I need,” Louis replied, clipped. They waited until Liam pulled out of the pavement, and then Louis followed him closely, tailgating.

“Do they think the murderer is gonna follow us or something?” Harry asked lowly after a few minutes. Louis was gripping so tightly to the wheel that his knuckles were white against the plastic.

“Something like that, yeah,” Louis responded. “Or, in Liam’s opinion, he’s already in the cars.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, his voice raised an octave.

Something snapped in Louis.

Abruptly, he turned the car down a street, not caring that he crashed straight into a stall selling fruit as he went. The radio in his ear started buzzing with Liam and Zayn’s exclamations of, “What the fuck are you doing?” and “You trying to get us all fired?” but perhaps the loudest of all was Harry, gripping onto the dashboard, asking him, “Is this part of the plan?”

“No it’s fucking not,” Louis snapped, pushing his foot down harder into the pedal of the car. It sped forward, wheels spinning and grinding against the gravel, sliding around corners.

“You know, last time I was in a car going this fast, I was –”

“I don’t want to know!”

The car halted to a stop, halfway down an abandoned, dusty alleyway. Liam was still screaming in his ear, which told Louis he had another few moments at least before the other boys found him, and Harry was looking at him with wide eyes, half terrified, half confused.

“I don’t want to know anything about you other than one,” Louis shouted, his vocal chords straining from trying not to cry. “Did you kill your father?”

Harry’s eyes went back to normal, and he relaxed against the seat.

“Back in Tudor times,” he began slowly, infuriatingly calmly. “If you were an aristocrat, you could basically get away with murder. It’s different now.”

Louis could literally feel his blood pressure rising. “That’s not answering my fucking question, Harry. Did you kill –”

“No, I didn’t murder my father,” Harry broke in. His hands were shaking, but Louis didn’t think the cause was deception. “I have my suspicions though.”

“So do I,” Louis replied.

“I’m scared to say anything,” Harry admitted. Louis’ grip on the steering wheel lessened slightly. “Dad did, and look where he is now.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Louis promised fiercely.

Harry smiled sadly, obviously remembering the first time Louis said that, what felt like so long ago in their darkened hotel room. “You might not have a choice.”

“You were trying to tell me something before,” Louis said, beginning to drive the car towards the courthouse, hoping that he could explain away his blatant disregard for the company’s policies as a training drill. “Was this what it was about? The murder?”

“No,” Harry answered immediately.

“Well,” Louis prompted. “What was it about?”

“Nothing.”

Now he was really getting pissed off. “It was obviously about something, Harry. Come off it.”

“It was nothing, Louis.”

“Well then I’ll be telling the judge you’re withholding information.”

“Fine!” Harry screamed, ear piercing and sudden, hitting his knees painfully against the dash with the sound. “ ** _I love you!”_**

Louis blinked a couple of times.

“That’s what I was trying to say, okay?” Harry spat, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere than in the car at that moment. “God. Can we just go to this fucking trial now?”

A lump appeared in Louis’ throat, and he quickly swallowed it. “Sure,” he said slowly.

Harry let out a low sigh. “Good.”

They rode in silence.

*

“A training drill,” Liam repeated, dumbstruck. Zayn just looked amused.

“Yep,” Louis said, too perky to be taken seriously. Harry was rolling his eyes in the background, but he ignored him. He couldn’t even look at him without bringing up, ‘You love me? Really?’. “Smart, huh? You should’ve seen your face, I swear to God...”

“That’s a dangerous thing to do in the name of a drill,” Liam said. Louis knew he would go home that night and look up training drills in the company files, and he knew he’d be busted within a few hours, but he just needed Liam to shut up right _now._

“Yeah, well, I am the best,” Louis said, mustering fake bravado. He could’ve sworn he’d lightened a couple shades since Harry’s admission.

They’d said they _liked_ each other before. Hell, Louis even went ahead a couple times during sex to admit that he really, really liked when Harry did that, or that, or _that yes Harry that that that._ But love? That was never a part of the plan.

So why wasn’t he angrier about it?

“He has a point,” Zayn said. His voice snapped Louis out of his thoughts. “Now are we going to go...”

He trailed off, and Louis knew immediately from his friend to follow his eye-line. He did so, and Zayn was staring right at a woman on the other side of the steps leading up to the courthouse, her face covered in a balaclava and her body wrapped in a black cat-suit.

She was pointing a gun right at them.

“Get down!” Louis yelled, grabbing both Liam and Harry, trying to drag them down with him whilst he fumbled for his gun. In the confusion, he only managed to pull Liam down, hitting his head against the steps, knocking him out.

Then, in what seemed like slow motion considering how fast he knew bullets went, it hit Harry, who went tumbling down the steps.

“You bitch!”

As she turned to run off, Louis’ shot hit her straight in her lower back, knocking her to the ground as well. She landed with a thud on the marble steps, groaning lowly.

Zayn made his way across, handcuffs off of his belt, wrapping around her slender wrists.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he read out. “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...”

 Louis, meanwhile, had basically toppled down the stairs after Harry, picking him up in his arms.

“Where – where – did it hit you, baby oh my God I’m so sorry –”

“Hey, Louis,” Harry stopped him, hand on top of Louis’ smaller one. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Blubbering and confused, Louis shook his head, not understanding. Harry pulled up the black of his top, revealing a bullet proof vest.

Louis had never been happier to see the invention in his life, and that was including the amount of times it had saved his life.

“Got the idea from some fucker of a secret agent I knew once,” he said, smirking so brightly that it almost blinded Louis.

“You bastard,” Louis whispered, but he was grinning, and then they were kissing and Harry tasted of freedom and trust and, “I knew you didn’t do it.”

“Took me getting shot to prove it though,” Harry quipped.

Louis thought he was perfectly justified in hitting him then, just the once.

*

“How’s the head?” Louis asked, rather awkwardly, as he passed over some toast to a bed-ridden Liam.

Liam was looking at him with such venom in his brown eyes that it would be comical, if he wasn’t the brunt of it.

“I think I’m perfectly capable of following ‘Get down’ without your help, Tomlinson,” Liam said, biting into his toast and butter with surprising anger. “Don’t need you thunking my fucking skull into the courthouse steps, for God’s sake.”

“You would’ve been dead!” Louis pointed out, and for once, he wasn’t making up a creative lie to make himself sound better. “She was shooting straight for you. Harry only survived because he had the sense to wear a vest...”

“Which he got from our store cupboard,” Liam pointed out. “He broke into government property, Tomlinson.”

“He did that last night as well.”

“Tom!”

“Well sorry,” Louis said, laughing. “I just have to lighten up the mood a bit. You know I hate hospitals.”

“Well you’re going to be spending quite a bit of time in them when you and Harry start breeding, I’m sure,” Liam said, and he was trying to sound as if he didn’t approve but it was difficult when the corners of his mouth were turning up into a smile. Louis reciprocated his expression.

“We’re thinking of moving in together,” Louis said, eating a slice of toast against the backdrop of Liam’s moody complaints. “Getting a big apartment in London. Panoramic views. He’s gonna be a lawyer, he said. Wants to go back to uni.”

“And I hear you’re being promoted,” Liam burst in, because Louis was getting a bit too sentimental with that sappy grin on his face. “You’re my boss now, you fucker.”

“Means less field work, which Harry is happy about,” Louis explained, twisting the ring on his finger. “Says he’d be worrying too much about me if I was out shooting people every day. And I dunno, now I have him, I don’t really wanna be doing that too much either, if that makes sense?”

“Clear as crystal,” Liam responded. “You’re whipped.”

“I am so not whipped!” Louis replied, indignantly, throwing a piece of toast at a laughing Liam, who protected himself with the cast on his arm.

They both knew Louis was a filthy liar.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this oneshot is based on The Cab's "Angel With A Shotgun". Absolutely amazing song, and hopefully a good fic to go along with it!  
> I really really loved writing this one, and I love the idea of cocky confident Harry being the billionaire's son and Louis being too afraid to explore the relationship between them. This was actually the basis of one of my original novels, but of course, I found myself putting the two lovebirds into the situation!  
> Please please please leave kudos and comments, they mean so much and they really let me know my work is appreciated. Thank you all once again for reading! xx - L


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